


Wicked Serendipity

by AxileVionRaiz



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred/Arthur - Freeform, Alternate Universe, America/England/France - Freeform, Angst, Bottom England, England is everything, FrUK, Frukus - Freeform, Historically incorrect, Human Names Used, Jealous America, Jealousy, M/M, Romance, USUK - Freeform, Uke England, Usuk ending, a bit fucked up like that, also fruk ending, no they are not sharing Arthur/England, tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxileVionRaiz/pseuds/AxileVionRaiz
Summary: America loves England and vice versa but they love each other in different ways. Comes in France. England felt different, and was intrigued as well as attached but America does not want England to leave.





	Wicked Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an assignment and yes I wrote Hetalia fanfiction for my assignment.
> 
> English is not my first language. Excuse any grammatical errors or any odd wordings.

Smoke wafted through the night sky as Arthur took another whiff from the pipe between his lips, exhaling the smoke out as he stared absent-mindedly from the balcony of his dingy apartment. The occasional shouting could be heard from the streets below as a few kids from the neighbourhood cycled back to their home. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and Arthur fished it out only to turn it off immediately without checking the caller ID. He could guess by now who it was that had phoned him.

Turning his back to the night sky, Arthur stepped inside the lonely house that once used to have such a lively feel to it. Such a difference to the gloom and silence it held nowadays. It was rather ironic really for Arthur as he had bought this place for his solitude but in its early days, only chaos followed him and his adoptive younger brother. Arthur washed away the pipe and began cleaning it before keeping it back in its case. His eyes flitted to the words etched under the lid, where it can only be read when the case was opened, but before his eyes could register the letters he slammed it shut. His mind though remembers with almost perfect clarity what was written.

‘My hero, my brother’

Shaking his head, Arthur kept it back in its place. His lips tilting up slightly around the corners, yet they were pursed and his eyes reflected the forlorn that has been echoing in his heart for a year since that night. He took a few steps back; his head that hung low was slowly raised to stare at the wall mirror in front of him. Ah, when did he start crying? There were tears trailing down his cheeks, dripping down his jaw and spattering lightly against the spotless ceramic floor. Arthur caressed his cheek with the tip of his fingers, his lips parted in a small gape. His hand fell back down to his side; he turned his head away from his reflection and gritted his teeth.

Why was he still hung up on that person, why could he not forget and move on? Perhaps, perhaps it was because he could not forgive. Arthur was very well aware of this fact that may be the reason he clung to the past while the other had left him. There was this huge gap between them and no bridge in sight to let him cross the deep chasm. So he stared into the deep, pitch black abyss and saw no end or perhaps an end – an end that involves death if you look for it for the only way down is by falling.

“AGH! To hell with him!” He shouted before punching the table in front of him, his knuckles throbbed. His breathing quickened as he gasped for air; his chest moving up and down rather erratically. He missed him, he missed his little brother.

Somewhere in the United States of America; Alfred F. Jones was thinking of an Englishman.

I did not mean to hurt you, I did not mean to let go of your hand, I did not mean to put a frown between your heavy eyebrows that I secretly adore. I regret wiping away the smiles that I took for granted away from your face. It was never my intention to disappoint you. I merely wanted to…I wanted to show you that….

His thoughts trailed off from there and he picked up his phone that laid next to him on the bed. He shifted his body to lie on his sides; using his left hand to dial the familiar number only for the call to be rejected for the nth time. Already expecting it, he dropped again on his back, laying in a spread eagle position on the king sized bed. His phone in hand, he gripped it hard. It was a gift, from Arthur and he had it with him for years. It was obviously a very old model but he cherished it dearly.

It has been years, he barely remembered how Arthur’s smiling face looked like, yet the image of Arthur on his knees, in front of him, with tears pouring down like river from those peridot green eyes, was burned into his mind. He never wanted to see those expressions on Arthur ever again.

“I want to see you again, Arthur.” He whispered to himself.

In the drawer of the bedside table, was a plane ticket to London.

Alfred held up his phone high in front of his face, he wanted to tell Arthur he was coming but the man was not picking up. The past year was the longest year of his life but he had to, he had to stay away from Arthur. He wanted Arthur back in his life but not as an older brother, never as an older brother. It would be very painful to stay by his side and watch him take a lover that is not himself. Arthur was his and his alone since the moment the Englishman picked him up from the street and graced him with a kind smile.

He wondered if he should message the man.

“Maybe I should surprise him.” Alfred decided and his eyes crinkled while his mouth formed a happy grin. He would get to see his Arthur tomorrow and he could not wait.

But I digress.

Alfred stepped out of the airport, holding a luggage bag in his left hand. His right hand held out as he watched the grey, pouring sky. “Heh, I forgot it always rain here.” His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his luggage, determined. “Just like that time we met.” He muttered in reminiscence. Seeing a taxi driving past he quickly chased after it clumsily, his hand waving in a frantic motion. Thankfully it stopped and Alfred climbed in quickly, his coat supporting several wet spots from when he chased after the taxi in the rain.

“Where to?” Asked the driver dutifully.

“Here please.” Alfred did not bother to cite the address and merely handed him a slip of paper with Arthur’s address written on it.

The taxi moved again, heading to where the address stated. Alfred looked out the window; a small smile remained on his lips for the rest of the journey.

Arriving at Arthur’s apartment, he paid the taxi driver and stepped out. Holding hope close to his heart as he began his ascend through the stairs to the topmost floor. Thank God, there were five floors at most. Walking along the hallway, he stopped in front of Arthur’s apartment door, smiling at the familiar faded gold coloured figure of six.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

There was no peephole so Arthur had to open his door to look at who had knocked on his door. He merely had to wait a few seconds after knocking before the knob was twisted and turned; the door pushed out and Alfred stepped out of the way. The first thing out of his mouth? “You look like shit, old man.” Smooth Alfred, smooth. He hit himself and screamed at his stupidity internally.

Arthur scowled and tried to slam the door shut but he might have caused a bruise on Alfred’s foot instead, though it was the younger one’s fault for blocking the door with his own foot. “Go away, Alfred.” Arthur hissed. He missed the other, and because of that he would not open the door. He would not lis–

“Listen to me, Arthur. Please.” The blue eyed blonde pleaded with his puppy eyes and Arthur’s resolve melted as quickly as ice next to a lava river. Alfred knows Arthur and he knows when his pseudo older brother’s resolve was unsolved. He had been living with him under the same roof for 15 years; since he was five years old. So, with a small smile Alfred opened the door enough for him to slip in and dropped his small luggage down on the floor.

Warmth and the scent of damp forest mixed with all kinds of tea. Ah, he missed his once upon a time guardian. His guardian that he fell in love with. “I miss you, Arthur.” He confessed as he hugged the shorter one of them, enveloping the other in his own warmth and scent.

“Git.” Arthur let out softly, though Alfred could clearly hear him trying to hold back his tears. “What are you doing here, you–”

“I love you. Arthur, I love you.” Alfred confessed, saying it before he lost his nerves. “I meant what I said last year. I don’t want to be your brother anymore. I can be independent, I have a respectable job and I have my own place now. So will you–”

This time, Arthur cut him off from continuing his speech; by punching him hard. “YOU TWAT. YOU SLIMY GIT!” He yelled, tears filling in his eyes, threatening to spill. “Did you even think? How I felt when you suddenly declared your bloody independence on your bloody birthday? With your things all packed? Blimey, I thought...I thought” Arthur suddenly fell on to his knees, his hands cupping his face as tears finally spilt. “That you hated me.”

Looking at the sight in front of him, of Arthur down on his knees in tears, reminded Alfred of that day. He realized how much his action hurt Arthur only when the man was down on his knees. Looking at the same sight again, more than a year later, hurts no less than the first time. It hurts him to realize that he was hurting the only person he had fallen for in his 21 years living.

“Arthur.” Alfred started, crouching down and gently grasping Arthur’s hand and uncovering the older one’s face. “I may be a mere five years old when you found me sleeping on the streets and took me in but I already loved you when you took me to your home and took care of me. You were alone and only seventeen but you took me in to live with you. I saw how hard you worked for us both even when you tried to hide it from me; I promised myself that I will be independent and successful enough to take care of you. So that you don’t have to work yourself to the bones anymore.”

His body moved to once again embrace his dearest and was met with no protest, which Alfred was certainly glad for. “I love you, I came back to tell you that. If...if you don’t want me, I...that’s....I’ll accept that and go back to America.”

Arthur felt his heart stopped for a moment at the declaration and shook his head vehemently. “N-no! Don’t, please, stay here, with me.” Arthur was already in tears, he did not want America to go away again. He missed his little brother so much, certainly he loves Alfred, but he was not in love with the younger American. “I love you too.” He whispered in between his sobbing. Lying.

No, it was not a lie. He does love Alfred, just not the way his adopted younger brother wants.

It ache him to see Alfred breaking into a wide grin yet at the same time it was also a pleasure, to see the happy smile that belonged on the younger boy’s face. “I’m in love with you and you are too, right, Artie? That is what you mean, yeah?”

That nickname, he hates it but he’ll ignore it for this once. “Yes.”

Alfred moved in with Arthur for two years before finally managing to persuade his lover to live in America. It would be easier, his business was in America and it was rather tiring to constantly fly back and forth from England to America, the separation was also something the young blonde hated but he had to endure it since Arthur was adamant on staying in England.

It took a lot of persuasions and after two years it bore fruit.

“Hurry up, old man. Or we’ll miss the plane.” Alfred shouted as he rushed through the airport, alright, perhaps it was his fault that they were late but hey, Arthur was too tempting to not eat.

Arthur was panting as he dragged his luggage, chasing after Alfred. “Git.” He shouted back as he sped up. They barely made it in time to board the plane.

“One business class and one first class, yes?” The person guarding the gate took their tickets and nodded to them, letting both blondes know that they may pass.

“What the hell? Are we not sitting next to each other, Al?” Arthur frowned a bit.

Alfred pouted and nodded unenthusiastically. “Since we bought the tickets really really really late, they only had two seats left which was lucky enough.” He, though, sent a teasing smile at Arthur. “You can have the first class. I know you never got on the first class seats before.”

In response, Arthur elbowed Alfred with no mercy.

Alfred only laughed as he avoided the attack. Enjoying the hint of red on the tip of the Brit’s ears. It was an adorable sight. “I love you.” He slipped.

Arthur paused, before giving a small smile. “I know.” He gave a peck to his younger lover on the lips before hurrying to where the first class tickets were seated.

His eyes wandered as he searched for his row, hoping that he would get the window seat though that the chance seemed unlikely as the plane was almost full. His seat partner would probably be there and claimed the window seat already. When he finally found the label that mirrors the label on his ticket, Arthur found that his earlier assumption was right. Oh well, he better put his small luggage on the compartment above them first before any further dwelling.

Opening the compartment with little struggle, he found that he was unable to completely push his luggage inside and it threatened to fall on top of his head. He would definitely get a concussion if that were to happen. “Need help?” A man spoke, with heavily accented English, which was really hot if Arthur might add. He looked towards the voice and saw the man that was to be his seating partner looking at him with bluish eyes.

Arthur nodded silently, not trusting his voice to speak.

The man quickly got off his seat and settled Arthur’s problem swiftly. Arthur noticed that the man was almost as tall as Alfred. “Done.” The man offered a smile at Arthur, looking at the Briton up and down. “ _Tres bien_.” He whistled lowly.

“T-thanks.” Arthur nodded in gratitude for the help, feeling his cheeks getting warmer at the smile. It was a charming smile, he has to admit. Though he wonders what was it that the other had said in that foreign language – it sounded French.

The taller of them was silent for a while before suddenly saying. “Would you like to take the window seat?”

Arthur blinked in confusion but nodded anyway and the taller one stepped aside to make way for the other. “Um, thank you?” He said almost hesitantly when they were both seated.

The man smirked, it should be illegal. “No problem, I have something better to view other than the empty sky and sea now anway.” Was the man flirting with him?

To cover his embarrassment, Arthur held out his hand for a handshake and introduced himself. “Arthur Kirkland.”

“Bonjour.” The man took Arthur’s hand into his and caressed the knuckles softly with his lips. “Francis Bonnefoy.” A Frenchman. Arthur felt himself blush even further.

“I’m not a bloody lady!” Arthur drew his hand back, feeling flustered.

Francis chuckled, it was an awkward sound unlike Alfred’s deep rumble but Arthur found that he it was dorky, in an attractive way. “That is rather obvious, mon ami. You seem like a fine gentleman.”

Holy hell, this prick knows how to flirt. Arthur gulped and muttered. “Damn right.” Deciding that for his sanity he would ignore the Frenchman with beautiful golden locks framing the handsome fa- No, don’t go there Arthur.

“Vacation in America?” Francis asked, looking to start a conversation with the adorable British, at least he assumed British from the accent.

Arthur shook his head. “Um, not really. Moving actually.”

Now, that got Francis really interested to know more. “Alone?”

Arthur shook his head. “Ah, no. With a....friend.” He sighed, opening the small window to gaze outside. It was not a topic that he preferred to talk about.

“You don’t seem so excited about it.” Francis pointed out.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course, no country is better than England and I like living in London thank you very much. I don’t even know how he managed to persuade me to move in with him to America.” He may or may not have pouted a bit at this.

“You must miss your friend very much, yes?” Francis, not wanting to drop the conversation continued speaking. Arthur brows furrowed. It was a funny sight to Francis as the man’s eyebrows was incredibly thick. Adorable.

Would he miss Alfred? As a friend? Maybe. As a brother? Definitely. As a lover? Arthur really did not know. It has been two years, they hadn’t done things only lovers do yet. Yet.

“Probably.” Arthur answered verbally for Francis’ benefit. He then turned his head to face Francis but was surprised by their close proximity as apparently the Frenchman was leaning close to him. Disturbingly close. “What do you think you’re doing, frog?” Arthur hissed, remembering half way that they were in a plane and tried to quiet down his tone of voice. Wait, shit. Did he just accidentally insult a man he only just knew like minutes ago? Damn it Arthur, not cool.

Francis did not seem bothered by it though, confident prick that he is. “If I’m a frog would you kiss me?”

“Do you think you’re some kind of a prince charming?” Arthur scoffed and crossed his arms, though it was clear he was enjoying the beginning of their playful banter.

He had planned to sleep on the flight, but sitting next to Francis stole that option from him. Not that he minded. The rest of the flight continued with the Brit and French bantering, flirting.

Alfred grinned so wide, when the plane landed and his feet planted on the land of his birth, it hurt to see. “Where is that old man, anyway?” He asked himself as he looked around, looking for the familiar tuft of blonde hair. Catching sight of his lover, looking rather spaced-out, he immediately bounced towards Arthur and jumped on the smaller one’s back. “Arthur.” He yells in excitement.

“O- oi! Get off me you heavy prat!” Arthur cursed and Alfred did so reluctantly.

“You’re so mean, you make it sound like I’m fat.” Alfred whined.

“Well, maybe that’s because you are, fatass.”

“It’s the muscles!”

“Keep dreaming, Al.” Arthur said, a fond smile curving his lips.

Alfred harrumphed and decided to drop it in favour for something more fun. “Let’s go home, shall we? I’ll show you around tomorrow! Oh yeah and we got this super cool neighbour who can cook really well so we don’t have to worry about your dangerous cooking anymore since he can teach you how to actually cook.”

“What does that mean, git?” Alfred started running, thankfully the other people at the airport gave the two a wide berth, and Arthur started chasing after him. “Oi!”

Alfred had already ordered for a cab for when they landed so they had time to mess around for a bit and Alfred surrendered himself when his phone rang, answering and was informed that their cab had arrived. Their things would be sent to their new home later – Alfred had already pre-arranged that so there was no fuss about fitting in their luggage into the cab.

The ride to Alfred’s house took about an hour and Arthur was stunned when the cab stopped in front of a three-storey bungalow with a huge front yard and it was the corner lot too. Arthur sincerely hopes the backyard is just as large, he had always loved gardening and he possessed a green thumb to go with it but back in his small apartment, he could only afford to have a few potted plants.

“Like it?” Alfred hugged his older lover from behind, smiling cheekily.

Arthur harrumphed and turned his faced away. “O-of course not, idiot. It was just bigger than what I imagined.” Crossing his arms but not pushing Alfred away whom merely chuckled and pulled Arthur closer, kissing the exposed neck on the back lovingly.

“Let’s get our things inside.” Alfred said, taking a step back and letting go of Arthur.

“Okay.” Arthur nodded and they both pulled out their luggage from the cab’s boot before it drove away. Alfred was already at the front door when Arthur slowed his steps to take in all the space, already planning in his head what to do with all the bare space and turn it into a beautiful, organized garden that would be subject of envy of the neighbourhood.

Speaking of neighbourhood, Arthur turned to peek at their neighbour’s garden on the right. Since they got the corner lot, they do not really have any neighbour on the left side. Arthur craned his neck a bit and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of roses. Roses almost overflowing everywhere as far as he could see, even the pavements were sided with rose shrubbery. Closest to him, was the English Rose in full bloom and it brought a smile to his face. Would the neighbour notice if he plucked it?

He reached out a hand, ignoring the sting of the thorn in favour of the rose.

It was futile though. He needed garden scissors to cut the stem. Just as he thought of that, the rose was cut from the rest of its’ vines that connects it to the rest. Arthur was so concentrated on his earlier task, he did not notice the owner, probably, of the garden came. He wanted to hide in shame but his wrist was caught in a strong grip, automatically he lowered his head, flushing from ear to ear in embarrassment to have been caught red-handed.

“You have a good taste in roses, rose thief.” The owner said in French accented English.

Wait, he knows that voice.

Immediately Arthur raised his head and true to his suspicion, it was Francis Bonnefoy. “Hello, again Arthur.” Francis greeted with a teasing grin, holding the rose close to himself. He took out a small pocket knife and used it to clean the thorns from the stem casually.

“Wait, you’re the neighbour?” Arthur asked, incredulous.

Francis only confirmed it with a sound of agreement. “I haven’t seen Amerique in two years, so I am guessing he has been staying with you back in London?”

“Amerique?” Arthur frowned. The word came out weirdly from his lips and it earned him a small chuckle from Francis.

“America in French. He’s the most American person I ever met and that’s saying something since I lived here longer. He told me he grew up in London but from his accent you can’t even tell that he has stepped out of America his whole life.” Arthur huffed. Knowing that even after years of teaching Alfred to use proper English like a proper Londoner bore no fruits and the young man still butchered up his beloved language.

“So you gave him the nickname America?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Silence covered them both for a few while but then Francis was done cutting away all the thorns and he slipped the rose behind Arthur’s ear. “A beautiful rose for the rose thief.” He said, turning Arthur into a blushing mess. God, he was so embarrassed.

“S-shut up, I’m sorry for trying to steal your rose, okay?”

Francis really did not mind, well he did if it were anyone else. “The English rose suits you, Angleterre.”

Arthur forced himself to not blush. “Angleterre?”

“England.” Francis said by way of explanation.

Arthur made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, before turning his eyes on the roses again. “You have a lovely garden.” He complimented sincerely.

“What can I say, roses are the most beautiful flower.” He cast a glance to his garden with a wistful smile. Arthur wondered why Francis had that expression when looking at such beautiful scenery. “You know, Arthur?”

“No, I don’t.” Arthur snapped before Francis could continue, another person butchering up the beautiful language of proper English.

Francis took no offense, he merely listed it as another adorable thing about Arthur. “While I commend that English rose suits you, I have a perfect rose in mind for you.”

Darn it, Francis is a sly tosser. Arthur thought with a slight annoyance but he could not help but getting embarrassed again. It was nice to have someone flirting with him. “W-what is it?”

“Wait there.” Francis said before taking off into the direction of the other side of his garden.

Arthur pouted when the French disappeared from his view but at the same time his attention was required somewhere else when he heard his name being whispered close to his ear. “Arthur~” It was whispered in a sing-song tone and it sent deep shivers through the British.

“Yes, Alfred?” Arthur said, swallowing down the tremor in his voice as he turned to face his lover, adapting a calm expression over his facial features.

“What’re you doing out here?” The American asked softly, his eyes looking at the rose decorating the Brit’s hair. It suited him. How lovely. “Where’d you get the rose?”

“Ah, the neighbour caught me trying to pluck one of his roses.” Arthur retold the story with slight embarrassment. “He cut it and cleaned the thorns before giving it to me.” There was an obvious fondness in those peridot eyes.

Ugly. The rose looks ugly in Alfred’s eyes now.

“Is that so?” Alfred hummed, caressing the soft cheek of his older lover until his fingers brushed against the rose petals and he grasped it in his hand. Arthur’s eyes widened when Alfred took the rose and admired it close before crushing the petals in the palm of his hands. He let the broken petals fall between his fingers; the once eye-catching rose was now deformed.

Arthur was speechless. What, why?

“Oops, that was careless of me.” Alfred said pretentiously, throwing the flower away without a care and slung the same arm around Arthur’s waist. “Let’s go back in, Artie. You’ll love the bedroom for sure and oh, you should see the kitchen.” He began rambling as he dragged the nervous lover inside the house.

When Francis came back, Arthur was nowhere in sight, with a forlorn smile he turned back to his house, looking at the rose, he said. “Well, maybe some other time. I’ll show the magnifique of osiria roses, Angleterre.” He wonders where the British gentleman disappeared to.

To say that Arthur fell in love with the kitchen would be an understatement. His eyes were practically shining as he toured the huge kitchen, Alfred chuckled. If only the Brit was as good at cooking as his excitement shows. Oh well, anything that Arthur makes, he can eat.

“Oh, I should make scones for the neighbourhood and greet them.” Arthur said to himself, feeling brilliant.

Alfred though, sense trouble coming his way if Arthur continues with the sudden ‘brilliant’ plan. “Um, I don’t think that’s smart, Artie.”

Arthur scowled. “It’s Arthur and proper English please.” He did not address what Alfred meant though since he knows what the younger one meant. He was simply in denial that his cooking is just that bad.

Alfred pouted. “But your English is so stuffy. American English is so much easier.”

Sighing, Arthur ignored Alfred in favour of checking the contents of the cabinets and fridge and found them empty. As expected. The last time Alfred was in America was two months before then. “Alfred, where is the nearest supermarket? I need to go out and buy some food or else we’ll die of starvation.”

“We’re going to die anyway if you’re the one cooking Artie.” Alfred teased.

“Sod off.”

Alfred laughed, pulling Arthur closer towards him by the waist and pecked his cheek in an adoring manner. “I’m glad you agreed to move here with me.”

“I miss London already.” Arthur retorted and slipped out of Alfred’s grasp, sticking his tongue out like a child.

“Hey, wait. Let me come with.” Alfred followed suit, grabbing his car keys and house keys. Locking the door securely before jogging to where Arthur was standing next to his flashy car. “Cool ride, right?”

“The wheels are at the wrong side.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

It was adorable how Arthur acts so British. “Yo, Amerique.” And there comes his annoying neighbour. “I see you’re back.”

“Francis, I thought you’re on vacation for half a year?” Alfred called back with a friendly attitude, casually shifting his body to stand protectively in front of Arthur.

“Nah, I decided I rather waste the last month lounging at home and tending my garden. Maybe open a small cooking class or whatnot.”

“Oh, really? Hey, Artie. You should join Francis’ cooking class. His cooking is really good.”

Francis strained his neck a bit and noticed the British standing timidly behind Alfred. “Oh, Angleterre. So the friend you’ll be staying with is Amerique?” He said as a way to start a conversation, he already knows from their earlier conversation.

“My name’s Arthur, twat.” Arthur replied automatically, an annoyed tick comically emerged on his head.

“Sorry, Francis but we’ll be going first. Arthur wants to buy some food to stock up the fridge and then we need to unpack everything.” Something that Francis said nagged at the back of his head, and where did Francis knows Arthur? Did they met somewhere in London? Though Arthur rarely left the house without him along so that is impossible.

“Oh, then maybe I can go with Arthur and you can start unpacking your things?” Francis offered, he wanted to talk with the Brit some more. “I can give Arthur some tips in cooking too.” He winked playfully.

“No, thank you.” Alfred said, less polite this time and he was no longer smiling. “I want to introduce him to America myself, y’know. You can’t take that spotlight from me.” He said seriously before cracking a smile, appearing cheerful as can be, as if his dark mood a few seconds ago was merely an act.

Francis sighed but he understood. “Of course, well,” He turned his eyes on to Arthur. “Anytime you want to come, you’re invited.” He offered with a friendly grin.

“We’ll remember that.” Alfred started dragging Arthur inside the car and with one final wave, drove out of his property and the automatic gate closed by itself with a press of a button.

Arthur was slightly dejected when he could not take on Francis’ offer though he had kind off expected this to happen. Alfred has always been possessive since he was a young child. He could remember the young Alfred hogging all his toys. Arthur chuckled to himself at the memory which gained Alfred’s interest.

“What are you laughing about, Art?” Alfred inquired.

Arthur shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Just thinking that you haven’t changed much; you’re still so cute.” His words were not something that Alfred likes to hear.

“Oh.” Was Alfred’s only response, no amusement in his voice. The market was not very far away from their place, especially not by car. Alfred easily slid into an empty parking spot and parked his car smoothly. Arthur waited until Alfred turned off the engine before pulling the handle to open the door when he felt his other arm was yanked to the other side and he turned in surprise. A pair of lips smashed against his own, accepting, he closed his eyes and responded.

Alfred pulled back only when the need for air was unbearable any longer, looking at his lover panting and ears flushed brought satisfaction inside him. His, Arthur is his. “You should tell Francis, that we’re not just friends.” Alfred muttered, caressing the Brit’s cheek. “Correct that later.” He added, cerulean blue looked back into the peridot green with a certain hardness in them.

The trip to the market went by without any incident.

“What are you making?” Alfred asked as he walked down the stairs, smelling burnt food wafting through the house.

Arthur looked up from the oven and smiled a guilty smile. “Ah, I was making some scones. I thought we could give it to Francis as a gesture of goodwill.”

“Oh! That’s a brilliant idea, Arthur.” Alfred exclaimed happily. He really did not like the thought of Francis and Arthur getting close knowing his neighbour’s flirtatious personality and this might just bring the two apart. Francis will definitely not like the...er, coal and Arthur will definitely hate Francis after that depending on what the Frenchman say though the reaction to eating the coal, um, scones will probably be enough. “I need to go for awhile. I’ll allow you to go to Francis’ place and his place only.” He hugged his boyfriend’s smaller frame and kissed the temple before hurrying out.

Arthur merely shook his head, the affectionate gestures from Alfred forever will he welcome it. He glanced at the clock they had just hung up the wall the previous night. “Just in time for tea.” He said to himself as he packed the scones. Arthur did not bother to lock the door on his way out since he was just visiting next door.

He rang the bell of Francis home, standing in front of the gate; waiting patiently for the Frenchman to notice his presence there.

“Arthur!” Francis called out, a surprised tone in his voice once he noticed whom it was. “Wait a bit, I’ll go open the gate.” It was an automatic. It did not take long for the gate to swing upon after Francis said that.

“Thank you.”

“What brings you here?” Francis opened the front door wide to welcome Arthur in.

“Sorry to bother.” Arthur said softly as he stepped inside. He really would never actually bother to be polite but really it was the first time he was going to Francis place. “I made some scones, thought that we could eat them for tea time together.” He mumbled, shoving the box towards Francis.

Francis opens the box and...before he could say anything, Arthur cuts him to it.

“Don’t say anything. I know, it looks bad and it might even be harmful to your body even though it might taste fine to me. Alfred can eat it but I know he does not like it since it tastes bad he says. He did mention asking you to teach me cooking yesterday, remember?” He had long accepted it after watching so many of his friends during high school and college getting sick when he forced them to eat his cooking.

Francis blinked, feeling stumped. Then he laughed, not the normal laugh but the omg-I-am-laughing-so-hard-my-stomach-is-going-to-burst laugh. Arthur pouted, thinking that Francis was laughing at him but he waited for the man to finish laughing. “Oh, Arthur, you. You are simply adorable.” Francis managed, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. Both of his hands held Arthur by the shoulder as he look straight to the Brit. “You came here, wearing an apron and mittens, bringing me scones and then you proceed with telling me not to eat it?”

Arthur’s pout became more obvious and he rolled his eyes. “Well, I did not want to hate you if you insulted my cooking. They taste fine to me!” He said stubbornly.

Francis chuckled. “Sure, they do.” He simply said and put the box carefully on the table closest to them. “Well, I have some éclairs if you’re interested. Fresh from the oven.”

Arthur nodded. “Do you have tea?”

“Of course.” Francis nodded a bit cautiously.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur kicked Francis on the shin. “Tea is my specialty, how dare you doubt a Brit’s ability to brew the finest tea.” He harrumphed. Arthur follows Francis to the kitchen, feeling a bit miffed still even though Francis apologized cordially. “What kind of tea do you have? Evening tea is best at this time, though earl grey is not too bad. Cardamon or Ceylon tea would go nice for sweet treats too.”

“Uh...I only have the English Breakfast.” Francis said, amused by how the Brit talked about tea and he was sure that if he does not say anything, he could go on and on.

Arthur nodded. “Well nothing you could do about it.” He shrugged. “May I use the kitchen to boil water?” With permission, Arthur began locating for the things he needed, finding the kettle and tea set. A small smile graced him, just like any other time he was brewing tea. “Ah, you have tea infuser too.” He said more to himself.

When the water was boiled, Arthur started to brew the tea with a soft finesse. In the way he poured the water, measuring the scoops of tea leaves to put in the infuser. The mitten was taken off once he poured the hot water into the kettle but the apron stays. Francis admits that it was a sight that would not be too bad to see every day.

“So, if you did not actually intend to make me eat the scones, did you come here just to see me?” Francis asked with a flirtatious tone, making the Brit blush.

“W-what d-don’t be ridiculous.” He scoffed thought the reddening of his ear validated Francis accusation. At a look from said man, Arthur huffed. “So what? If you don’t like me being here, I can just leave.” He set down the tea pot, done with pouring tea into two tea cups. He had intended to sit down on the opposite side of the small dining table Francis was sitting at but his pride made him want to walk out and so he did.

Or at least attempted to.

When he passed Francis, his wrist was caught in Francis’ hand and he was yanked towards the French. “Ah– you bloody git!” He cursed before realizing he was seated on Francis lap. “W-what are you doing?”

“Flirting with you.” Francis answered.

If this was not reality and he was just another character in a book, his ears would have been shooting out steam by then. “Don’t joke around, frog.”

“If I’m the frog then are you the princess?” Francis countered cheekily.

Arthur blushed harder, groaning in annoyance though it was not so bad. “I am not some damsel in distress.”

“Never said you are, mon cher. That would be very boring. I like your shy but strong attitude.” Francis chuckled, holding the Briton close felt rather nice.

Just then, Arthur’s phone vibrated and said person fished it out of his pocket, looking at the colour ID, his eyes widened in a small burst of panic. He turned his head to the French, his forefinger on his lips as an urgent signal for the other keep shut. Then he answered. “Alfred?”

“Artieeeeeeee, are you home?” Arthur felt his ear ring from the sudden ear shattering scream from the other side of the call.

“I’m at Francis’ house.”

“What? You’re still at his house?” The cheerful and loud voice from before took a 180 degree turn that Arthur almost thought that it was a totally different person on the phone.“Go back home Arthur, someone messed up at work and I need to attend to it. Might not be home until after dinner.”

“Wai–”

“Gotta go! See ya, Artie.” And the call was dropped.

Arthur withheld the urge to face palm, opting to just sigh instead. “Proper English, you idiot.” He scolded to the phone, feeling as if some of his energy had just been seeped away. It was difficult to could not keep up with Alfred’s pace sometimes. He turned to Francis with an apologetic smile, “I think you heard most of it, I need to get back now.” He sighed and waited, expecting for Francis to let go of him.

“Sounds like you’re gonna be lonely for dinner.”

Arthur face palmed this time. “Going to be, not gonna be.” Really, American English annoys the hell out of him.

“Right. Why not have dinner here? I’ll cook, we can lit some candles and I have great wines.” Francis persuaded.

“The candles are overdoing it.” Arthur pointed out. “Though I never object to an offer to get tipsy.” He grinned, a plan formulating in his head to seduce the French. Well, not exactly a plan, just a thought.

“Will this be counted as a dinner date?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “If you want it to be.”

“Then I better get everything started to be ready in time, yes?” Francis though did not loosen his hold around Arthur’s waist yet.

“I suppose.” The Briton hummed, pulling away the French’s arms from his waist and jumped off said French’s lap. “I’ll head back I suppose, if it is a date then you should do it properly. Like a gentleman.”

Francis stood up as well. “Then I’ll come pick you up. Nothing too fancy, something casual is good. I prefer if you came being underdressed though.” He tapped Arthur’s nose lightly with his forefinger, receiving the blushing face that he was seeking. It was funny to see the Briton frowning, especially with those thick eyebrows that oddly suit the smaller one.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you later.” Arthur mumbled and walked back to the front door with France sending him off to the door.

Arthur wasted no time once he returned to his new place, taking a relaxing bath to calm his nerves. He was going to do it. Cheating. He likes Alfred, of course, he does not even sure why was he trying to remind himself of this fact. He loves Alfred, as a younger brother. Being the American’s lover for two years has not changed that in the slightest.

Done with his bath, he proceeded to raid his closet. Everything was still neat and tidy as he had just unpacked the night before. “Bloody hell.” He sighed, pushing his bangs to the back of his head. Francis did say casual but it was only a dinner at the French’s house. He could deviate from that. Steeling himself, he pulled out his clothes that he has not worn since he got out of his punk phase.

Smiling for himself as he looked into the full-length mirror. He wanted to tease but he does not want to go overboard either. He had chosen to wear his favourite t-shirt, a black shirt with painted pattern of his national flag on it, the words United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland printed under the flag. Arthur paired it with a midnight blue skinny jean, with tears over the knees and thighs purposely done; opting out on the accessories.

Feeling rather bold, he hurried back to Francis’ home before he lost his daring nerve and rung the door bell. “Just in ti–” Whatever Francis wanted to say got lost in his throat. Arthur smirked and pushed Francis aside as he sashayed in. He decided the dumbfounded look on the flirty French.

“I know you said casual but I figured dressing like this will help with my mission better.” Arthur turned to face Francis, wearing a coy smile as he walked backwards.

Francis gulped, he would not have thought, the easily flustered British man could turn into such a teasing cougar. “And what would the mission be, mon cher?” Walking closer to the Briton, he slid his arm around the smaller one’s waist.

“Seducing you.” Arthur leaned up, his breath tickling Francis ear. Then he pulled away, his eyes landing on the well-prepared dinner table. Blinking twice, a soft flutter touched his heart, butterflies in his stomach. “Oh.”

“And how about mine? My mission to capture your heart? Is it working well?” Francis grinned to himself.

“You would know, won’t you?” Arthur retorted and sat down on one side of the table. Francis on the opposite side. They started with a simple chatter, playing twenty questions while eating, Arthur has to admit that Francis was a bloody great cook and a lovely wine collector.

Not long after their dinners were finished, they started pouring more wine into their glass as they continued their conversation, getting to know simple little things about one another.

Arthur could feel the alcohol affecting him and driven by his bravery from earlier, he got up from his seat and sauntered over towards Francis, unceremoniously plopping himself on to the man’s lap. He sneered at the stunned look on the Frenchman. “Any objections?” He tilted Francis’ slightly upwards to look at him. Receiving no response, Arthur smirked and he let their nose touch. “I take that as a no.” Because silence is yes trope is just bull.

“You might regret seducing me in the morning, Angleterre.” Francis warned, feeling incredibly hot under the collar.

Arthur hummed, his hands playing with the unbuttoned collar of Francis’ dress shirt. “Definitely not.” He decided and smashed their lips together, letting the alcohol take control of his actions as he kissed the French aggressively. “Francis...” He gasped when he felt his hair being tugged by the other.

“What’s wrong Arthur?” The French teased.

Pulling away from Francis, Arthur got off him and slid his hand over to the other’s own hand. “The chair is hardly comfortable.” He said as he pulled Francis towards the living room; lying down on the couch, shooting the other a coy smile when he climbed on top of the Briton.

Francis grinned, they were both drunk but let it be said that they still have somewhat coherent minds. The alcohol were just helping them getting rid of the hesitations. Leaning down, he captured Arthur’s lips again, his hands mapping the Briton’s torso.

Arthur forgot all about Alfred that night as he spent it in Francis’ arms.

When Arthur woke, feeling sore, something nagged at the back of his mind but he dismissed it and rubbed his eyes sleepily. Trying to force himself to wake, opening his eyes and the sunlight blinded him for a few moments. Alfred. That single name jarred him to full consciousness and he instantly sat up. “Oh no, I’m dead. I’m dead.” He wriggled off from Francis and scrambled to fix his clothing, Francis waking up when he was pushed aside.

“Mmm? What’s wrong Angleterre?” He yawned, not feeling like waking up just yet but he was already missing his warm companion.

“I need to go home. Alfred.” Was his by way of explanation and bolted out of the house. He was undeniably panicking as he scrambled to unlock the front door to their house but before he could insert the right key into the key slot, the door was already opened by his truly.

Arthur felt cold sweat all over but then Alfred broke into a wide smile. “Artieeee~” He enveloped the smaller one in a hug and pulled him inside; closing the door as he turned to bring his stunned lover into the house.

He did not visit Francis, or even walk out of the front door. He was being cautious, it was strange. He thought that perhaps Alfred would have suspected something but the young blonde had simply chalked it up to Arthur and Francis drinking them to waste and fell asleep face first into their dinner plates.

It was....reassuring; the thought that Alfred did not suspect anything.

After that cautious one week, he returned to his game with Francis to the delight of the French.

It went on and on, for months. He had told Francis about his relationship with Alfred, his feelings and whatnot.

“I like you, I do but I’m...actually, I’m with Alfred.” He had confessed that one night.

He had suspected for sometime so it was not really a shock to the French. “But you still want me.” It was not a question, it was a smug statement. The action was one that earned him a painful jab on his side courtesy of the British.

“Don’t interrupt me.” Arthur huffed, crossing his arms. “Anyway, it’s actually complicated. I love him of course but not like how he wants. I see him as a younger brother and I don’t suppose that will ever change.” His green eyes glanced at Francis before averting. “B-because I love you.” He added in a whisper but loud enough for the French to hear him.

“That’s good.” Francis smiled softly, for once not teasing the blushing Briton. Francis raised his hand, his fingers caressing the smaller blonde’s cheek, before tucking a few stray strands of hair behind the ear. “I feel the same about you, Angleterre.”

Arthur was truly happy. They shared a kiss; their sweetest, softest kiss.

There was a knock on the front door, marking the end of their sweet fantasy for the day. “There’s Alfred. I need to go.”

Francis nodded but not without pecking his new found boyfriend on the temple.

As Arthur walked out of the door, Alfred caught Francis’ eyes and there was a glint of insanity but it disappeared in less than a second. Francis if he had just imagined that. “Thanks for accompanying Arthur everyday Francis.” Alfred waved and pulled Arthur close to him in a possessive manner. Then the door was closed.

Strange. Alfred would usually mention about seeing him again on the next day to drop off Arthur again. Perhaps he was over-thinking it.

Back to Alfred, he had pinned Arthur down on their bed, their lips locked in a messy kiss. Pulling away slightly, he stared into Arthur’s clouded green eyes. His own blue ones clear with affection and love for the Briton. “Hey, Arthur. Do you trust me?”

It was an out of place question especially because they were just making out. “Of course.” Arthur answered anyway. Why would he not? He knows Alfred better than he knows anyone else. He took care of the younger American since he was merely a child. “More than anyone.” He whispered, if he truly had feelings for Alfred romantically, he perhaps would have pulled him in for another kiss.

“Will you play a game with me?”

Now it was turning peculiar. “You want to play games?” Arthur stared at Alfred incredulously but being shot with the pleading puppy-eyed face really was not helping him say ‘no’. “Fine.” He sighed, before shooting the other a fond look. “What do you want to play?”

Alfred smiled cheekily and kissed Arthur’s forehead. “I love you so much.” He seemed so giddy and Arthur grinned, feeling affected by Alfred’s giddiness.

“I know, so what do you have in mind, Alfred?” Arthur reworded his earlier question.

Alfred nodded, laughing lightly as he sat up and forced Arthur to follow his example. “Hey, Arthur.” He began in a serious note. “Let me take care of you.” Alfred propped his head on Arthur’s shoulder, his arms circling the other’s waist and pulling him close. “I’ll be home for the next two months, so please, let me have this fantasy.”

“If that is it, I don’t think you need my permission ya twit.” Arthur shook his head, chuckling but Alfred only tightened his hold around the Briton.

Alfred looked up but did not let go. “Promise you will play with me, you will follow my every word for the next two months. If you break it...if you break it...” It was a silent threat but Arthur received the message and Arthur gulped.

“Okay, okay. Do calm down, Alfred. You’re worrying me.” Arthur had this odd sensation of feeling trapped and he tried to ease away the feeling.

“Promise.”

Sighing, Arthur made a cross gesture on his heart. “I cross my heart.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur smiled to himself and hugged the young American back, both of them falling fast asleep.

Alfred woke first and he smiled to himself, the first sight he sees when opening his eyes was of his lover. Arthur was sleeping in a truly undignified manner, drooling and his blonde hair sticking out more than usual. “Good morning.” He hushed when Arthur showed the telltale signs of waking up. “I’ll make breakfast, sleep some more. I’ll bring it to bed.”

With that, the British man easily went back to his sleep.

Alfred yawned and stretched, working out his kinks as he climbed out the bed and headed to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Yawning once more after he was done with his morning ritual, walking down the stairs towards the kitchen. “What should I make for him?” He wondered and inspected the fridge and the food cabinet. “Pancakes sound yummy, and there’s that delicious maple syrup.” He said to himself and began to find the needed materials.

Returning back to the bedroom, with a tray containing both of their breakfasts, Alfred almost dropped the tray when he skidded forward. “Arthur! What do you think you are doing?” He scowled, slamming down the tray on the bedside table. Not giving any chance for the Briton to reply, he strode over towards the closed window and swept Arthur off his feet. Alfred carried him back to bed with an angry glare as if the other had just committed a crime.

“H-hey, calm down.” Arthur was too surprised to feel any annoyance at being carried like a damsel.

“No! You were not supposed to leave the bed.” Alfred growled, throwing Arthur down on the soft mattress. “You promised that you would let me take care of you so listen to me.” It was not the ramblings of a spoiled child instead it was the anger of a full grown adult having caught a crime offender red-handed.

It scares Arthur but as soon as the fear was forming, Alfred showed him a vulnerability that squashed it easily.

“You promise to play...” The anger was gone from his voice. Arthur could not see his face as the boy was hugging him tight like a lost child. “Play nice.”

A tired smile formed on Arthur’s lips as he hugged his pseudo younger brother back. “Sorry, I should have asked the rules of this game.” He rubbed Alfred’s back in a soothing circle, the boy was sniffling and he sighed fondly before humming a song he used to sing Alfred to sleep.

When Alfred calmed down, Arthur pulled away and pinched both his cheeks. “Feeling better?” Alfred nodded. “Good, I’m peckish. We should eat.” Alfred nodded again silently and took the tray, though he did not hand Arthur his plate. He cut a small piece, pierced it with a fork and held it up for Arthur to bite. Raising an eyebrow, the Briton shrugged and let himself pampered.

It was not so bad. Until evening came and a new rule reared its ugly head.

“What do you mean I am not allowed to walk anywhere? I let you run around as a child.”

“Well you’re not a child! You’re an old man! Old people should not walk around so much.”

“Bollocks! I’m thirty-three ya’ sodding git!” Arthur argued, not liking the rule that was just imposed on him.

“I don’t care! You agreed to play with me! You never had much time to play with me when I was younger so this is your punishment.” Alfred retorted childishly, even pouting for effect.

“Damn it, that’s not fair.” He muttered, hanging his head low. Alfred knows that Arthur won’t protest anymore, happily he scooped Arthur off the bed and carried him to the bathroom. The tub already filled and Alfred slowly lowered Arthur in, helping him take off the wet clothes.

“Call out when you’re done.” Alfred said with a smile before closing the curtains to the tub.

Arthur was a tad spooked but Alfred’s dodgy behaviour but he simply brushed it off. It would only be for two months. Besides, being spoiled like this was not so bad. He could certainly get use to it.

Get use to it he did.

The days went on and all Alfred ever did was pamper him and shower him with affection. It gnawed on him, he felt guilty. Alfred should shower the affection to someone that deserved it, to someone that could love him back as much and not simply as a brother. He can’t see Alfred as something more. He misses Francis. He misses the way the Frenchman flirted with him, bicker with him and teases him about his cooking.

Yet, he could not even move out of the bed without Alfred’s explicit permission and even then Alfred would be the one to carry him anywhere he wanted to go. It was endearing really how the American did not want to be apart from him. Although three months was too long, in this room with no one else but them both. Cut off from the world. He wants to go out, breath the fresh air, feel the rain against his skin and the damp earth beneath his feet.

“Hey, Alfred?” Arthur called out softly. The one spoken was only lying next to him. Receiving a hum, he knew that he had caught the other’s attention. “Why haven’t you opened the window?”

Alfred suddenly became tense, Arthur could feel it. “There’s no need.” There was irritation in his tone, less annoyance and more ire. Ire towards Arthur for asking such a question and so Arthur kept quiet. He pulled away and Arthur felt no desire to search for the warmth again. “Good morning, Arthur.” Alfred kissed Arthur’s temple before climbing out of the bed stark.

“Morning.” He replied without much enthusiasm.

Alfred did not seem to mind. “I have to go out for a bit today. Don’t do anything and stay in bed. Call me if you’re hungry or if you want get out of the bed for anything.” He swooped down for a quick kiss before turning out the door with a cheerful wave.

Silence.

Heavy silence. Arthur looked up at the clock ticking on the wall, it was almost noon but no sunlight entered his room. It was strange. He frowned to himself, never did he notice that. The light was always turned on, with Alfred there distracting him; there was no need for him to pay attention to the little things.

A soft roar fading in the distance indicated that Alfred was no longer around. Plopping back down on the bed, he opted to sleep the day away and wait for Alfred to come back. He closed his eyes, his last thought registering Alfred’s scent enveloping him. He missed Francis.

Waking up again, his eyes immediately landed on the time. It was tea time. Arthur sighed. It had almost been how many months since he had tea with Francis, a time usually reserved for their political debate. Comparing French and British cuisine and the like. It was the little things that made him fall more for the flirty Frenchman. The type of teas suitable for drinking at tea time during different seasons.

Come to think of it, what season was it? What day? What month?

Arthur shot back up at the epiphany, seating on the bed as his mind processed his line of thought. He had forgotten to count the days and the times of him falling asleep are messed up, how many days had past? How long has it been since he last saw sunlight?

His eyes gazed back towards the clock. It told him the time, but he did not know, is it day or is it night? What day of the week was it? Arthur turned back to the window. “Just a small peak, he won’t know. He’s not here.” He whispered to himself, unsure why he was trying reassure himself. All this thinking was making him feeling woozy. He had not even had to think much for the past few...for however long since the first day their little game started.

Arthur tried to climb off the bed. Instead, there was a loud thud as he fell off. Stunned, Arthur tried to stand up but when his legs would not obey him. “W-what...” His eyes widened, obviously disturbed. He should call for help, the window, he could still reach to open it. Rather than his stupid pager on the other side of the bed.

He scooted slowly on the floor, his legs feeling like a burden. Straining, he managed to force them open but there was no sunlight shining through nor was there any moonlight or streetlight. Nothing, he could see nothing outside the window but bricks; covering the window to each corner. “No...” His green irises was more evident than ever, his voice quivering.

He did not know what else to think but he needed out, out of the house, before Alfred returns to find him. He does not know when the American will be home but he prayed, oh he prayed. He can’t use his legs any longer after so long of disuse and Arthur was afraid, was this what Alfred was aiming for? He stumbled down the stairs but he ignored the pain, his mind urging him, telling him to get out and away.

The door, the front door. It was slightly ajar but Alfred’s shoes were not there, perhaps he had forgotten to close shut it properly. Whatever, better for him. Arthur crawled his hardest, his arms to pull his body forward, doing so clumsily. Quickly, quickly before Alfred comes back.

It was raining, heavily. Any other day he would have appreciated the rain, it reminds him of home but not that day. It merely adds weight to his clothes and the damp earth makes his progress slower and more evident. Alfred will know and that only hardens his resolve to go faster. Out. Out and away. Away.

“Artie?”

Never in his life have he felt fear gripped his heart in such a swift, firm grasp. He slowly lifted his heart and a lump stuck on his throat.

It was the normal Alfred, but there was something unsettling, the disappointed frown, the disapproval in his tone. “Were you trying to leave me? Huh?” Alfred crouched down, lifting Arthur’s chin up to look at him better. “Look at you, crawling all over the mud and getting dirt all over you.” He let of Arthur and took a step back, seeming to be in deep thought.

Arthur said nothing, feeling only trepidation.

“Where were you going?” Alfred asked, his face mocking. “Francis?” He smirked, Arthur whimpered, Alfred looks breath taking but it only scares him more. “You think I didn’t know?” Alfred’s voice was not scolding instead it was as if a parent was soothing a misbehaving child.

“I...”

“I won’t let you. You’re mine, Arthur. You promised you will stay with me!” Alfred was crying, there was desperation. Arthur blocked his ears with his hands. “Look at you! You can’t even walk anymore but you’re still trying to get back to him! Why?”

 “BECAUSE I DON’T LOVE YOU THAT WAY!” Arthur shouted, finally, finally confessing.

Alfred stared, both their breathings heavy. “You think I don’t know that either? I know, within the first month we were together but I don’t care.” Arthur did not know for sure where Alfred pulled it out from but he started to scramble backwards though it was harder than crawling forward. “Stop moving Artie,”

“P-put that axe away.” Arthur pleaded, his vision blurry from all the tears falling from sheer fear.

“No.” Alfred growled, he raised the axe high above his head. “I allowed you privilege to still use your arms and you misused it. You don’t need them anymore.” And swung.

**Author's Note:**

> My first assignment we were required to write a short story and here it is.  
> The second one we were required to write a script and I wrote the continuation of this story.


End file.
